I've realized I have never shared how the two sillies start their day huehueh Yūgo's not a morning person.... puppy boy needs his eepy but too bad both of them needs to get ready to teach the students..
Morning in the Queendom of Roses did not begin with birds.
Silver light slipped through tall windows, brushing over dark sheets and the faint scent of cedar and warm spice lingering in the air. The world beyond NRC stirred with early risers and polished shoes.
But in the professor’s private quarters, nothing moved.
Not sharply. Not dramatically. Just the slow lift of lashes over steel-gray eyes, adjusting to pale dawn. His arm was warm. Heavy.
There, half-sprawled over him like a fallen constellation, was Yūgo.
Hair in disarray, midnight strands spilling across Crewel’s shoulder. His face pressed into the professor’s chest as if he had decided, at some point in the night, that this was the safest place in existence.
Crewel exhaled through his nose.
“Up,” he murmured, voice still rough with sleep.
Yūgo made a small sound. Not quite a word. Just a hum of protest, breath warm through the fabric of Crewel’s shirt.
Crewel glanced at the clock.
They had class in an hour.
He tried again, nudging gently. “My troublesome pup.”
Then, muffled and dramatic, “No.”
Yūgo did not lift his head. In fact, he seemed to melt further into him, arms sliding tighter around Crewel’s waist. As if anchoring himself. As if the bed were a battlefield and he intended to win.
Crewel could already feel the disaster brewing.
“You insisted last night that punctuality is sacred,” he reminded him calmly.
“Mmm,” Yūgo replied, voice thick with sleep. “Sacred can wait.”
Steel-gray eyes softened despite himself.
In daylight, Yūgo was composed. Elegant. Almost ethereal in his quietness. Students hushed when he walked by.
Right now he was just… warm. Soft. Completely boneless.
Crewel shifted carefully, intending to sit up.
Yūgo immediately followed, dragging himself up half-awake, clinging. His forehead thumped against Crewel’s collarbone.
“Diiiiiv…” he whined softly.
“You will be the ruin of my reputation,” Crewel muttered.
Yūgo lifted his head just enough for their eyes to meet. Twilight gray, unfocused, lashes heavy. He blinked once, slowly.
Then he leaned in and pressed a lazy kiss to Crewel’s jaw.
“You are impossible in the morning.”
Another kiss. This time lower. Then one at the corner of his mouth. Uncoordinated. Sleepy.
Crewel caught his chin gently before it could escalate further. “Control yourself.”
Yūgo pouted, still half-dreaming, and instead buried his face into Crewel’s neck. Warm lips brushing skin. A soft nibble that was more instinct than intention.
Crewel’s fingers tightened briefly in Yūgo’s hair.
He absolutely did not move.
“Shower,” he said firmly, voice regaining authority. “Now.”
Yūgo groaned like he had been sentenced.
Crewel pushed the sheets aside and stood, dragging the clingy deity-boy with him. Yūgo swayed, forehead landing against Crewel’s shoulder blade as if using him as a wall.
After a beat, he stepped forward, hands firm on Yūgo’s waist, guiding him toward the bathroom like one would guide an oversized sleepy dog.
“You founded a dorm,” Crewel reminded him. “You survived a war.”
“And yet,” Crewel continued smoothly, turning on the shower, “water is your greatest enemy.”
Yūgo leaned against him from behind, arms wrapping around his middle again. His cheek pressed to Crewel’s back.
“It’s cold,” he muttered.
Crewel turned the knob slightly warmer without comment.
He peeled Yūgo’s shirt off with practiced ease, ignoring the way glowing faint constellation scars flickered lazily across warm skin. Not divine power. Just sleep-soft light.
Yūgo stepped under the water reluctantly.
Then immediately reached back for Crewel’s wrist.
Crewel sighed but stepped in with him.
He washed Yūgo’s hair first. Long fingers working shampoo through midnight strands, massaging his scalp with slow precision. Yūgo leaned into it shamelessly, eyes closed.
Crewel pretended not to notice.
When he tilted Yūgo’s head back to rinse, Yūgo opened one eye lazily, water trailing down his face.
“You’re very pretty,” he mumbled.
Crewel’s expression did not change.
But his ears warmed faintly.
Yūgo reached for him again, hands sliding up over Crewel’s shoulders, damp and warm. He pressed a kiss to his collarbone. Then another, softer, along the line of his throat.
Crewel caught his wrists this time.
Yūgo stared at him with slow, sleepy devotion.
Then, with absolutely no shame, leaned forward and licked a stray drop of water from Crewel’s jaw.
Crewel inhaled through his teeth.
Crewel shut off the water before things derailed completely.
He wrapped Yūgo in a towel and began drying his hair briskly, refusing to let himself get distracted again.
Crewel steadied him with one hand at his hip.
Yūgo obediently straightened. Barely.
Crewel brushed his teeth for him next, guiding his chin upward with gentle fingers when he grew distracted halfway through.
Crewel buttoned Yūgo’s shirt himself. Smoothed the collar. Adjusted the tie with meticulous care.
Yūgo watched him the entire time.
Eyes no longer fully asleep. Just soft.
“You don’t have to,” Yūgo murmured quietly.
He slid a hand up to fix one stubborn lock of hair, combing it back into place. Then he stepped away to retrieve a brush, returning to tame the rest with patient strokes.
Yūgo suddenly stepped forward, pressing close.
Not needy now. Just warm.
His hands rested lightly on Crewel’s waist.
“Thank you,” he said, more awake this time.
Crewel’s expression shifted. Subtle. Real.
“You are my partner,” he replied simply. “It is not indulgence. It is efficiency.”
Then he leaned up and kissed him properly this time. Slow. Awake. Intentional.
Crewel let it linger exactly three seconds before pulling back.
Then promptly rested his forehead against Crewel’s chest again.
Crewel stared at the ceiling.
Yūgo finally stepped back, though he reached for Crewel’s hand as they moved toward the door.
Outside, Professor Crewel would be immaculate. Sharp. Unyielding.
But inside those quarters, in the quiet before lectures and potion fumes and barking orders—
He had dried his star boy’s hair.
And he would do it again tomorrow.
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